Thin Walls
by SexySloth
Summary: The thin walls of Enjolras' apartment have a lot of stories to tell. His neighbor, Eponine, is one of those stories. So much can happen on a fire escape under the stars and much can be said without words. Rated M to be VERY there is some language and implied rape (not between E and E). This is MODERN and AU. One-shot. Time: the present. Location: Paris E/E…enjoy. :)
**AN: Gasp! Is SS writing something other than SS/HG. Here's the deal guys. I've honestly not been able to read or write anything involving our beloved character Severus Snape since Alan Rickman's death. I am having a really hard time, actually, dealing with it…so I've been losing myself in other fandoms and characters instead. So….uhm…here's my first Enjonine. I know that this ship is "controversial" to some, and that there are many who have STRONG feelings about the character of Enjolras' sexuality. But…I can't help who I ship…so here I am, shipping away. If you don't like and/or appreciate this ship…then feel free to move along!**

 **Also…I'm, um, NOT Victor Hugo. Just…to be clear and all. :) Reviews would be appreciated!**

… **..**

Enjolras was sitting is his usual spot on the battered leather sofa that was squeezed up against an overflowing bookshelf on one side, and an equally cluttered coffee table on the other. His nose was buried in a law book open on his lap, the cap of his pen clenched between his teeth, blue eyes focused in earnest on his work, when he heard it, and not for the first time.

 _Smack!_

The unmistakable sound of a hand against soft skin….a cheek? A buttock? The curve of a waist? Sometimes it would end there… with just the one echoing crack. Sometimes….it wouldn't.

He looked up, body tense, waiting, his eyes now focused on the exposed brick of the left hand wall of his flat. They were thin walls, and told lots of stories.

Silence, then the sound of a door slamming, and then Enjolras could detect heavy footfalls- _his_ footfalls- down the hall outside of the flat, headed toward the elevator.

He sighed, running his hand through his curls in a gesture of both relief and frustration. Although, he couldn't for the life of him admit who it was exactly that he was frustrated with…or why he should care…or how he had come to be so damn involved. But involved he was. Because when you share walls you share other things too. And Enjolras had done this dance before.

He shifted his papers off of his lap, re-capped his pen, and stood up, running to his ice box and grabbing an ice-packet from the stash he now kept there before hopping over the couch and opening the window leading to the fire escape.

She was there, as he knew she would be; her back to him, huddled in a tight ball. He closed his eyes and shook his head at her state of dress, only a ratty tank top and some rather worn looking sweatpants covering her thin frame. He always thought she was too thin. In the beginning, he'd mentioned it, had offered to buy her breakfast, but she'd frowned at him, a crease forming between her brows, and had said; "I don't need your money, Enj." And so he'd given in without a fight, as he always did with her. Because she was the only one….

The only one he'd ever let get under his skin. The only one with whom he permitted the use of that nickname that he'd usually verbally castrate others for. Her arguments were not always good…but he could never bring himself to debate with her. Perhaps it was because of those espresso eyes, and the way they would burn into his very soul. Or it could have been the electric way his body felt when, on nights like these, she would lean her body into his and rest her head against his shoulder, causing shocks to spark all up and down his body. Or maybe it was because after hearing her muffled voice begging not to be hit anymore at least three times a week from the flat next door, he couldn't bear to bestow upon her anything but gentleness.

He wondered, as he vaulted the bars separating their fire escapes gracefully, what had been the reason this time. He wondered if it mattered?

Shrugging off his hoodie, he took his place next to her, his arms wrapping the garment around her, still warm from his body heat, and he heard her sigh softly as she nestled her head into his shoulder.

"Hey," she said. He closed his eyes, his head shook. It was their usual greeting. And he wasn't sure what he expected exactly. She never poured out her feelings. But 'hey' had always seemed too nonchalant a greeting for this strange relationship they had together. There was comfort in the familiar, however and he responded in kind.

"Hey". He pulled away from her, turning her face towards his. "Jesus Christ…" he muttered when he saw the damage. Dried blood, the color of old wine, stained her mouth, while a new trail of ripe vermillion dripped from her nose. Across her face, covering her normally smooth cheeks and nose, he could see an angry, red and purple bruise forming.

She chuckled wryly, spitting crimson over the railing and took the proffered ice-pack he'd brought. "Thanks," she muttered as she placed it gingerly on her face, wincing with even that slight pressure.

Enjolras looked out at the smog-filled, indigo of the Paris sky. "Are you warm enough?" He felt her nod against his shoulder.

And they sat together, just like that for quite a while, counting stars, absorbing each other's calming presence. Checking his watch, he realized it was long past midnight.

"Why do you stay?" His soft voice broke the silence…as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He'd never asked such a thing before. In fact, the numerous-too numerous for Enjolras to recall at the moment-times they'd been in this exact position before, they'd not spoken much at all.

He felt her sigh against him, a subtle shifting of her shoulders, hunching in further before she turned to look at him full on, her brown eyes burning into his.

"Can we just…"

Enjolras broke the gaze, cursing under his breath. "I'm sorry, yes. I really shouldn't have asked. It's none of my…"

"No, it isn't," she murmured. "But I'll tell you anyway."

He turned his face towards her again, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Ok," he said, and watched as she got up from her crouched position against him and reached her free arm through her window where she grabbed a lighter and a crumpled pack of Marlboroughs.

"D'you mind?" She waved a cigarette at him at him and he shook his head. He watched as she placed the tip of the cigarette between her lips. She fumbled with the lighter, her hands shaking like leaves in a storm, so he placed his large, warm ones over hers and took the lighter from her, flicking the dial and watching the spark in her eyes as she inhaled deeply, turning her head and exhaling the smoke out into the night air. He watched her smoke in silence for a few minutes…wondering if she was going to 'tell him anyway' as she'd said before.

"I was fifteen," she finally said, wincing again as she replaced the ice pack to her face again. "I left home when I was fifteen. My father was a mean drunk and beat the hell out of my mother regularly when I was very small. Fucked her up. I don't remember a lot," she took a deep drag, shuddering even with his hoodie on, "because my Mom would lock me in the hall closet of our flat when he'd come home in a mood." She flicked some ash down to the street and watched it flutter away. "He left us when I was nine," she chuckled, taking another drag, exhaling roughly, finally setting the ice-pack down and switching the burning cigarette to her other hand. It did not escape his notice that her hands still shook. "I thought it would get better after that, y'know? I thought Mum and I could finally be happy, just me and her. That's what I remember her saying the night he left. 'It's just you and me now, 'Neen," she cast Enjolras a side-long glance. "That was her nickname for me." He smiled.

"I like it."

"I'll kick you in the balls if you call me that." She was smiling, sort of, a half, side-ways, Cheshire cat kind of smile.

"Got it." His eyes widened, but he couldn't erase his grin, for some reason. He wasn't sure why he was smiling. The things they were talking about…they weren't funny.

She snorted, and wiped away a trickle of fresh blood that slid out of her nose. "You're sexy when you smile."

He blinked, his own smile faltered. "What?"

She took one last drag on her cigarette and tossed it over the railing. "I said you're sexy when you smile," she blew the smoke in his face, and he realized, all of a sudden, that they were very, very close. "You're always so serious when I see you."

He nodded once, never breaking eye-contact, used to her bold nature, but still…she could always catch him off guard. "Well, usually when _**I**_ see _**you**_ , you've got blood coming out of your nose, or bruises around your throat, or a broken wrist from "falling" down all those stairs in your studio apartment." He cleared his throat and looked away, finally, feeling his face flushing from her candid, intense stare. "I'm usually pretty serious when it comes to things like that."

Eponine shrugged her arms around herself, wrapping the hoodie tighter around her. He noticed how long and baggy it was on her small frame…the sleeves about a foot too long, the hem hanging to her mid-thighs. He thought she looked….fragile, but strong at the same time. "So…what happened to it being just your mom and Neen?"

She whipped her head around, but her glare didn't reach her eyes. "Didn't I tell you I'd kick you in the balls if you called me that?"

His turn to grin and stare at her. "I knew you weren't serious."

"And if I was?"

"You're avoiding the subject…."

"Ugh. Fine. We'll put the subject of your balls on hold for now." She rolled her eyes, and grabbed another cigarette, this time she was able to light it herself. He took this as a good sign. She was calming down.

"Well, it was just me and her for a while. It was great…until the bills started to pile up. Without my father's income, my mum just couldn't make ends meet with her waitressing job. She tried, I think, to get other work, but no education, no experience

…no job." She took another deep drag and closed her eyes as she exhaled long and slow. "She met this guy. He moved in. He was nice at first. I thought…" she shrugged, " Turns out he was a crank-head. Turned my mother into one too. He started coming into my bedroom when I was thirteen." She looked at him square in the eye as she took another drag, daring him to judge her.

But he just thought she was breathtakingly strong, the bravest woman he'd ever known. "Did your mom know?"

Her face softened, realizing he wasn't going to pass judgement on her for something that wasn't her fault. "I told her, yeah. She was bad off then, though. Drugs…depression. She didn't care much, as long as her own bills were paid and she got her fix…which he provided. She pretty much ignored me. I wish he had ignored me. But it just got worse as I got older. He would do…more. So…when I turned fifteen, I ran."

There were tears now, but he could see that she was more angry than sad. She laughed a bit then, at herself, snorting, and wiping the snot. She smoked in silence for a while, and he watched her as she stared at the smoke curling out into the sky. He didn't mind. He was patient. When the cigarette was down to the filter she tossed it away and continued her story.

"I met him right after. I was just a kid who'd lost their whole world. He took me in. He fed me. He bought me clothes. He helped me find a job. He showed me what sex was supposed to be like…he took me, scars and all. It's just…he's got this temper. And…I…" She shrugged, helplessly, and closed her eyes.

Enjolras watched, finding a sort of sickening beauty in the way her tears slipped from beneath her dusky eye-lashes. Then, suddenly, her eyes opened, and caught him staring; wide and glassy brown met searching, cerulean blue…and the moment was electric.

In all of their past interactions, Enjolras had never dared initiate any kind of touch. It was she who put her own head against his shoulder, she who would lean against him desperately, she who's body would sometimes sag against his torso as he would gently place a blanket or a jacket or a hoodie around her. This time was no different.

Slowly, Enjolras felt a hand: trembling fingers, delicately fluttering against his cheek like a butterfly's wings. A burning heat churning inside of him, desire so strong that he feared he might pass out from the shock of it. Ever the patient one, though, Enjolras held back as hard as he could, staying still as a statue, letting her fingers explore the planes of his face. His blonde lashes fluttered as the tips over his brow bone, and he sucked in a breath as he felt those same, soft digits trace the cupid's bow of his mouth, one lone finger pulling his lower lip down ever so slightly. It nearly _broke_ him not to press those lips around that finger…yet, he remained still, his pounding heartbeat and blood coursing through his veins the only movement in his body as she slid the finger lower, down over his jaw, before resting her cold hand against his warm chest.

"Enjolras…" her voice was a quiet, husky, whisper that hit him straight in the gut, and his eyes shot open. "Would it…" she started, then stopped, her eyes flitting back and forth between his own, "would it be different with you?"

He'd never seen her look so unsure of herself. She was always the strong one…emotional, yes, but all bravado. She looked so vulnerable to him…

Finally, he gathered his breath, his heart, his impossibly inconvenient love for this woman in front of him and answered her: "Eponine," he murmured, as for the first time, he reached out, and cupped her cheeks ever-so gently in his hands, "I would never lay a hand on you in anger." She shuddered as his thumb stroked against her uninjured cheek so softly it felt like velvet. He Traced his other hand around her forehead, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I would treasure you…the way you deserved to be treasured," his voice slipped around her, filling her, enrapturing her, comforting her like it always did. But this time it was more..so much more.

And when they finally kissed, it was a mutual movement. They both strove toward it as the night strove ever closer to day, and when the last star in the sky blinked out of existence, another light burst into being on the fire escape, as their lips met.

 **Fin**

 **AN: "Questions? Comments? Places you're concerned?" One of my dance teachers used to ask this after she showed us any combination. So….yeah! I'd LOVE feedback! :)**

 **xoxo**


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